


Everything In Its Right Place

by JoSebach



Series: Petals discarded [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Asgore Dreemurr, Emotional Flowey (Undertale), Existential Angst, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Flowey (Undertale) journey, Flowey-centric (Undertale), Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inferno References (La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri), La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Flowey (Undertale), Parent Asgore Dreemurr, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Pre-Undertale, Self-Harm, Song: Everything In Its Right Place (Radiohead), Song: In Limbo (Radiohead), Song: The National Anthem (Radiohead), Spoilers, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, this time not a soliloquy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoSebach/pseuds/JoSebach
Summary: Is it possible to fix a reign after losing all hope?Is it possible to restore a family after 2 deaths and a getaway?Is it possible to still be oneself after dying more than once?Flowey will soon find out that no, none of them are.
Relationships: Asgore Dreemurr & Flowey, Flowey & Undyne (Undertale), brief Flowey & Undyne (Undertale)
Series: Petals discarded [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853614
Kudos: 4





	Everything In Its Right Place

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUnXxh5U25Y  
> 09/12/2020 The ending has been edited  
> 23/02/2021 Ok, I must stop going back here. I promise now the chapter is officially finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NfQD1QiQ9o4
> 
> I'm so hyped to show you the longest chapter I've ever written (other than the most emotionally drying to me). I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> **Updated: fixed major plot mistakes (I'm so ashamed, god)**

I wake up in the grand garden once again. And again there is no sign of what killed me, be it snow and ice or lava. Apparently, every time I commit suicide I get back right here, right now. I still can't help wondering what wakes me up, for silence and calm envelop the whole place. Maybe my death is responsible for this peace and quiet. As if no one noticed. As if it got rewound. As if nothing happened at all― Stupid, stupid, pointless thoughts. Stop rambling randomly and think of what to do now already.

This time I won't plead for help; I wanna try taking my main responsibilities, my original purpose, the one that I failed to fulfill: being a worthy prince. While I try to picture the eventual events, like the reconciliation, the telling and anything that could possibly happen, I let my body enjoy the comfort, the roots draining some energy from the soil and the petals embracing the warm rays from the ceiling. I still can't understand how to properly control this body―golly, I miss my limbs so much―however I can't complain the calm I can sense at the moment. My mind is occupied in the process of absorbing water and nutrients; my eyes gaze more on the surroundings, my entire sight encircled by other Golden Flowers. I stare hard at them, daring them to look back at me. But they don't bother, they seem so peaceful and satisfied with what they have, with nothing to worry about. Are they even alive? Of course they are: they aren't as weak as they look from afar, and besides knowing dad he must've taken meticulous care of them as if they were his children. And look who is a flower now― OK, that's enough. I remove the intrusive thoughts focusing on the silence. I take a long deep breath. Stay calm, keep calm. It's not the right moment for a panic attack.  
So these are the flowers I've brought from the Surface while dying. And yes, now I've become one of them, so ironic. Chara loved them so much, I don't deserve this form. Speaking of Chara, maybe they are here too, and if they've even awoken― Enough! Avoid the flowers!  
I start gazing away, finding myself staring at that throne chair covered in a layer of dust and a blank cover, displaced in the far-right corner. It's so pleasant to look at, that white so soothing it gives me peace and comfort, despite being out of place. Out of place because mom's not here. Not anymore. Of course, of course… Mom knows better, she always does. She probably got disgusted of dad killing those humans and dad killed them because I couldn't bring myself to kill some by myself and I letmyselfget killedandeverythingwenttowaste― Stop. Just look at the Sun and STOP. Thinking.  
The stem straightens toward the ceiling. Several rays stain my sight, irritating it. But I don't move. _Don't close your eyes, don't let the guard down. Not even the light can protect living beings._ Warmth spreads on me, then in me. I start feeling sick, my form getting uncomfortable. This is wrong.

Familiar footsteps start echoing in the empty castle. Oh crap. I don't have much time left: dad will shortly arrive here tending to the garden. The cape swings loudly, the short steps hinting it's following down the stairs. In a minute he'll be here. The rumbles close by, the vibrations spreading to the flowers. Now he's a couple rooms away. In a few seconds he'll be here.

_Don't close your eyes, don't you even dare._

The huge shape appears, there to attend to his usual chores, leaning for the intrusive weeds to remove and for the starving flowers to assist. Not that there is actually that much work to do, being few the parasites present and plenty the welcomed guests pretty fit and healthy. He still checks cautiously each flower, one by one, looking at his feet several times in order to avoid the cape and any incident. He approaches the back of the throne for another row of plants. He's just a few feet away. He hasn't seen me yet.

 _You can still do it. Disguise yourself. Stop breathing. Act dead. Retreat._ I slowly shake my head; I can't escape again, it's pointless.  
So I keep my eyes open instead.

Then he spots me, a quizzical look analyzes me. He's never seen something like me before, not that he remembers anyway, confusion invades his features. His lips part away, he's about to ask me what I need.

My mouth opens to his surprise, leaving him agape. «D―dad, it's me.» Only now I realize how my voice is distorted and hoarse, as if my body was not designed to speak words but only squawks and yelps, and who can blame it?

However he recognizes the voice instantly. His knees give out, his weight almost crushing all the nearby flowers. He tries to repair the mistake, helping the crooked stems to straighten, but he can't stop staring at me. His look is relieved and… defeated. «Asriel?!» He yells, eyes wide, mouth dry.

His low voice booms in my hollow body, making me tremble.

Letting him approach me is difficult, letting him know everything even more; I can just burrow, I can just disappear completely, I can just avoid consequences again. _But did it do any good last times? No, it didn't. Then stop plotting stupid plans, idiot!  
_ My cells want to break free, but I swallow their protests and my fear. My resolve renews.  
So I start with nodding at his inquiry, his eyes melting ice. Which is understandable…? I mean, it was because of my death if he's taken this dark path and now I even dare to show up after what… what he did… It's like rubbing on his face: « Everything you've done was for nothing ». My breath shortens, eaten by guilt. The back of my eyes stings, but no water threatens to escape. Hollowness fills me. Numbness is what I feel.  
I wait for his tears to run out and for his ears to focus back on my voice. I am not done and I won't escape. Only this time I manage to complete the tale, explaining Chara's whole plan and how I screwed it all up, bringing to these… unfortunate results. As the ending of the telling approaches, I break my gaze from him, I don't dare to look at his reaction.

Silence is a welcomed guest for the both of us.  
Until it gets overwhelming.

Curiosity allows me to raise my eyes once again.

His gaze is stuck on the floor, his mouth firm. A tear touches the soil and some loose petals.  
Understandable, he can't believe his _beloved_ son did such a treason to the reign and to his family, too scared to take part in a war he was capable of stopping from its birth, too powerful to die for mere blows. _Pathetic._  
His fist tightens, then loosens, tension released in the air.  
He must've realized there is no way to teach me common sense. It's a waste of time.  
His fingers rise, claws shining on the light.  
He must've decided to punish me for good. Death, it says.

Fear devours my insides. Cells threaten to escape. Panic absorbs useful breath. Why am I still breathing if I'm dead?! Why if I'm going to die on the spot? What's that for?!

The paw slowly approaches. The slower, the scarier.

I stare at it, I can't stop looking at it. N―no hard feelings for that… ri―right?

It approaches.

I tremble, my stem ready to split open. Please, please, I don't wanna die! Stop! I'll die from panic before getting punished, I swear.

Now it's above my head.  
He'll pull me up like the weed I am, like the parasite I am.  
It lowers, not so high.

Don't close your eYES, DON'T! DON'―  
Darkness envelops me one again, tears wetting my features and waving the void I'm in.  
I'm dead. I'm dead. Eheheh, so he really did it, of―of course he did, I deserved it, he really―

Something touches my head.

My eyes dart open, light tormenting my sight again, still covered in water. Same background, same flowers, same Asgore knelt beside me.  
The same Asgore from before, the one who knows everything.  
I find no sign of bruises, nor feel sensations of pain. I sense the petals part one from another, brushed by his fur. His touch is ample, yet soothing, it's as if… it's as if he knew how to caress a flower.

«I'm so… I'm so sorry, my son!» His deepest tears reach his nostrils. «I gave you both so many responsibilities… while they were only mine, mine and Tori's only… Not… NOT…» the next words grow incomprehensible, suffocated by sobs. His eyes fall on the ground, as if completely defeated. His fingers now encircle the soil at the base of my stem like a distant hug, too worried his massive weight could hurt me in the outburst.

Something eats my insides, almost making me vomit on the spot. Any sobs I hear makes me gag, I can't stand them. This disgust, this nausea,… It's guilt. Yes, it's guilt. Must be it, for it's my fault if he's crying. What else could it be? I don't attempt to cover my ears or whatever allows me to hear anything. I can't escape.

He continues saying he's sorry on and on. He doesn't seem to stop crying anytime soon.

Good, that's it, I've broken him, it was only a matter of time and I was so fast in doing it. Is there even a way to fix him? Is there even a way to fix all this?  
Was this actually a mistake? No, it must BE the right solution, I'll restore everything in its right place.  
I swallow the doubt, wearing on a smile. Do it for him. Hold on for them all.

Then the rain dries.  
He raises his head, looking back at me with a bloody gaze. He rubs his tears away with the paw, some hair gets stuck in the way, irritating the eyes. He doesn't remove it. «I… I can offer you something,» he breaths in a loss of words, «just wait here.»

I see him head off the room, the watering can knocked down in the process, the fertilizer bag left behind. Of course, he still thinks I can actually eat. I mean, I'm stuck in a bloody plant body, how am I supposed to just stomach food?! If it were like that, I shouldn't be able to talk, see, move, think. And yet I can do all these things. Luckily or unluckily.  
Well, it's worth a shot, I guess.  
Time passes and he doesn't seem to be back any sooner, so I decide to reach for him. After all, I'm not that eager to let myself die of boredom. I slowly burrow avoiding the flowers and sprout to the entrance of our house, getting myself surrounded by dead leaves, where once there were the most wonderful and colorful plants. Stretching my stem, my eyes surprisingly reach slightly to the open left window; despite all the dust, the insides look exactly like I last remember, as if actually nobody have been living here in decades if not centuries. Now that I think of it, I don't even know how much it's been since my passing.  
I easily spot dad, his huge back quite difficult to miss.

He's apparently busy in the kitchen, his eyes dart between the open book and the counter, occupied by… let's see… flour spread everywhere (even on the floor), dough with some hair stuck, now placed in a heat-proof dish… a pie, of course. He puts the dish in the oven, even if it's supposed to be preheated… He apparently is unaware of this; he ignites a flame way too big for a poor pie to cope and closes the shutter.

I can already smell something burning…

Anyway, what's missing now is the stuffing. So he checks all the ingredients again: an egg, REAL butter, sugar, flour… The principal ingredient is missing. He still doesn't know which pie to prepare? He turns to the sideboard and brings a bag of… Right, cinnamon, a favorite of mine. He raises the bag to his eyes, trying to… I guess check how much is left? Mum told him many times to never put that snout of his in the bag or else his fits of sneezes won't stop. He pours the powder in the pot. No, don't keep them so close―  
A sneeze. Everything is on the ground.  
Eheheh! This is so like that time on mom's birthday, when he had to ask her to buy more cinnamon while keeping the surprise! His eyes frantically go back to the sideboard; he moves some bags away from the shelves, but nothing: he's out of cinnamon. He turns back to the incident. Well, you know, there is a convenient big fat snails bag over there that you can always―  
He… He kneels down…  
He's picking up the powder…

I don't understand. Why? This is so unlike him! He would've tried hiding his mistake and said there was no cinnamon in the first place… What is wrong?

The collected powder doesn't fill half of his open palm, but that's enough. He sneezes again, this time promptly closing the fingers, even if some granules break out. Now he opens the paw on the pot from before and adds the other ingredients, some hair with them. He realizes something is overcooking in the oven… Covered in smoke, he takes the dish out immediately, the pastry too brown to be edible. He looks so mortified, like he's about to die on the spot. Something is seriously wrong.

«Dad.» I call for him.

He flinches. He turns slowly, trying to fathom the source of the voice. Must've forgotten his dead son is back, or maybe didn't know that a plant can move. I can't blame him.

«I'm here… in the garden.» I reply uncomfortably.

He spots me, my eyes barely visible from the bottom side of the frame. He approaches. «I―I'm sorry, I've left you alone for…» He looks at the clock, «way too much. Give me just a minute, I'll be back in no time.» He runs to the hallway. Then he shortly comes back to the front door, a trowel and a plant pot in his paws. He looks a bit embarrassed. «Well…» he hesitates, «Sorry, I couldn't come up with other ideas for… taking you in.» He snickers, trying to lighten the mood.

I follow his empty laugh, but then both of them die.

He cautiously stabs the dirt with the trowel, carefully avoiding my surroundings.

I would tell him not to worry too much since I've withdrawn my roots, but I think that would be… awkward, so I just keep silent.

He moves the pot closer, then pours me in.

I close my eyes shut and swallow the nausea in. I will NEVER get used to this body, I swear. But anyway now I can enter the house, even if for that I need someone to bring me in. I find myself in his furred arms and it's so… nostalgic, and yet everything is so wrong.  
The house looks way too big now, thank you plant body, but it's too much even for a lone huge boss monster like dad. It doesn't even have the warmth it once imparted. The chimney is full of dust but otherwise empty and cold. This silence is outstanding, I can't bear it. We reach the table and he places me there. He takes a chair and sits on it, now we both on the same eye-level once again. He feels intimidated. I feel scared. We part the glance.

Then he raises it again. «So…» He leaves the sentence open, strangely having trouble starting a casual conversation.

«I… I don't think I can eat the pie…» I break my guess to him. «Or even eat at all because, you know…» I gesture to my vessel, almost cringing at myself for seeing the weird stem as my own body. «I'm sorry.»

He looks so mortified that in comparison to before he was beaming of joy. «I… I understand. It was really stupid of me to think otherwise…»

«B―But please, eat it if… you want.»

«Won't it upset you…?» He asks hesitantly… He actually doesn't look that eager. He's just acting polite. He doesn't want to eat it.

Of course, OF COURSE HE DOESN'T! I've seen the disaster, nothing deserves that food! _Fix this mistake for once!_  
«You know what? Forget it. You should just… throw it away…» I eye the trash can from which the strong smell comes. Many, many failed pastries must be filling it. My eyes luckily fall on the cupboard with, well, cups. An idea pops in my mind. «What about having tea instead? We can both enjoy some, and I can always drink it from… from the soil…» Golly, this is so wrong.

«Sure, good idea. I'll go prepare some…» He looks better but hesitates nonetheless. He stands up and heads to the cupboard for the tea bags and the cups. He promptly finds a couple bags in a yellow box then looks at me, withdrawing one of them and searching for another one from the depths of the shelf. Then he gets… the happy-bday-king-dad cup and… the star-cup… Of all the mugs that filled the cupboard, why that one? It's not like I'm literally going to drink from it… He's already back, the room filled in steam, the cups filled to the brim. « _The most efficient way to drink,_ _»_ they used to say. He sits back down, placing the starry clay in front of me. That look of his is asking me if I want some of the beverage.

«I guess I'll let it cool a bit…» I keep my eyes put on the table.

«R―right,» he replies sheepishly, «hot water is not good for plants'… roots…»

God, this is getting so awkward!  
I let the aura chill a bit. The cup is still too close to me; the heat irritates my face, it's making me nervous. I don't complain. «So…»

He jumps from the chair. «U―uh. Tell me, son.»

It feels all _so_ wrong. «I… If it's alright for you I… I wanted to ask you a question…»

«Well, you just did, ahahah!» The laughter subsides instantly, some coughs arise. «Sorry, my bad. Ask away.»

«… So…» Boy, how do I start?!

«Don't worry,» he places his paw on the pot, «I won't judge you.»

I don't like it at all, but I swallow the knot away. «OK… I wanted to know what happened after… well, after…»

He nods, stopping my words. «Sure, you have to know.» He ponders for several seconds, then starts telling. «Actually, not that much happened. When we found out _that,_ we were grieving, Tori was so destroyed by _that_ and I've lost all hope, like everyone else― And no, it's not your fault.» He caresses my petal-crown.

I look back to him, his tears bathing me, all the regret watered away, feeling the least emotional. What's wrong with me? «I'm fine.» I reassure him.

He smiles back. «Then… you see, I did quite the reckless move and… and…» A sob escapes him, making his eyes water more.

Why are you crying for, what's eating you? I mean, what's the worst you've done? Leaving me in the garden for a hour? Spilling the cinnamon? Using that powder for the cake? Burning a cake? But who I am talking about, he's dad, hell, he's Fluffybuns, he gives too much importance to mere triffle! Just spill the bean already! Oh, right, is it for the humans' thing? It was all my fault, not yours and else's. I look right at him, wanting him to elaborate. «It's OK.»

«No, actually it's not,» he whispers, suppressing another sob. «I just wanted our people to restore some hope. You know how much is important for monsters to be hopeful, or else they fall down and… And considering how you two were beacons of a better future, losing you both was too painful… So I… I resumed the war and…» His last words drop silent, tears queuing across his cheeks.

No… it's not you… If only I'd… If I'd just…! But look at what I've done, instead, now you're so miserable… I turn my eyes away, regretting my choices.

«Ahah, I know, right? I am ashamed myself―»

«N―no, it's not that…» I hurriedly stop him, my mind restless, the tongue paralyzed. I feel my face is about to falter. He looks so… so broken. And it's all my fault. Stop self-deprecating, it's not the right moment. No, I can't give up, not now, not if it's for him. I must stand for him. I will stand for him. «S―sorry,» I sheepishly rumble, «I just… didn't expect that.»

«I can't blame you, ahah.» He resumes sipping his no-more-steaming tea. «But after all I can't just back away now. _The die is cast._ »

Everything he's doing _is_ for nothing. Other than giving short-lived hope, what else can such a plan do? Why keeping a promise impossible to fulfill? What's the purpose of getting on the Surface when there are plenty of humans living on it and even the weakest and stupidest one of them all is lethal for us? I let ourselves breathe some dusty air. «And…?»

His eyes shift on mine, surprised, quizzical.

«I mean, how many SOULs have you gathered?» My eyes and mind beg for more information.

«I have 6 SOULs… but it's been a long while since I've last seen a human. I wonder how much I have to wait for the next one.»

Right, those shoes couldn't have been someone else's. He's so close to destruction. «Well, it'll take what it needs. But after that,» my eyes dodge his shape, «what are you going to do?»

«I'll break the barrier, and that's a given. Then… I still don't know; after all, humans are oblivious of our moves and I'm not sure war is the right solution.»

«So you actually haven't planned until now?» I understand him but… going on without a proper plan? I mean, I can't blame him, I've done it but the results…

«Indeed, ahah. I was never an excellent leader, but still this situation is difficult to handle by itself.» His eyes rest on the empty cup, a little bit lighter. Then a thought flashes in his brain. «Well, I guess now the tea is cold enough to be served, isn't it?»

I reluctantly allow him to water the soil with the beverage. My roots reach for it as they get the first drop, previously unaware of their thirst, absorbing all the molecules they can gather. I am incapable to taste its flavor, but judging by the density, its shade and the scent, I can reckon the warm and yet bittersweet taste of the purest green tea.  
And knowing dad's skills, it must be really good.

* * *

The following days pass by slow, fast, silent, heavy.  
I stay awake for the whole night. Because plants don't sleep.

Then, after only-the-Angel-knows how much time, but still pretty early, his eyes dart open, short breaths following his shivers and sweat. A nightmare, like always. After ten minutes in which he reassures himself over and over, he realizes I'm already awake and smiles at me, struggling in starting some casual conversations of the weather. Yes, in the Underground. But topics run out fast and I don't usually feel like replying back. Our voices die in our mouths.  
He stands up remembering his responsibilities in an unreasonable late hour in the morning. At least if there was still mum. She would've never allowed him. He takes my pot and crosses the hallway, passing by a sign reading "Room under renovations", and then we stop in the kitchen for some bland tea, tea that I drink for mere politeness, since it apparently gives him joy. I mean, it's good and apparently my body appreciates it, but it grows old pretty fast, even more if you can't sense the tongue warming up and sweeten.

Once I've tried drinking with my mouth. It's worth trying, I thought, so why not? While I was swallowing it I could feel my saccharine saliva stinging my throat. And it went on for all that day. What a mistake.  
«Is something wrong, son?» He asked me, concerned.  
«N―no, I'm just no more used to… to drink, don't worry.» I've never done it even again.

After the humble breakfast, we always head down the stairs, not looking at the pointless calendar ( _that_ day encircled in red), and get to the garden for his most important chores, apparently, since he doesn't do anything else.

Once I've tried making him show me that room in the far right, the basement, the once-perfect spot for hide-and-seek. But he didn't.  
«There is nothing to worry about, it's just dirty and dusty.» He reassured me, failing.

And then he goes ALL DAY LONG babysitting the flowers in need, trying to start other blind conversations with me or with them. Yes, with the faceless flowers. I wish I was reborn as an Echo Flower for the sole purpose to make him realize just how BORING he actually is.  
And that's it. There is nothing else worthy of note.  
…Well, no, that's a lie; sometimes, and I mean FEW times, he leaves me all alone in the garden― no, what I'm saying, _I'm with the other flowers,_ right, dad?! And when he comes back, generally in an hour or two, he's covered in flour and dough and smells rotten. Those times I play a laugh and he follows suit. They are both empty, but it's so easy to satisfy him. And in another episodic event he's stopped for some more in the bedroom for writing a letter, but it never requires that much time. And it's not interesting in the slightest either since he won't tell me who it is for.  
But other than that… Yes, that's… that's all. Days die all the same, following the same. Plain. Schedule. Guess I'll die of boredom.

And so here I am again, among my relaxed and well-served fellow flowers, separated from their common soil. And he's even said I'm _in good company._ Dang this blasted pot, or I would go anywhere myself, I swear. She surely would listen to me…  
While he waters some other rich bundles I muster all my courage and manage to ask him _that._ «Dad, how many years have been since…»

He looks at me, then follows my gaze, falling on the throne hidden under the covers. His smile falls apart. «After I've declared war on the humans she disappeared. I'm not sure how much it's been by now, I've lost count of the days, but I can say it's been a really long while.» and then he resumes his gardening.

So that's actually it: she ran away. The Queen of all monsters, the Brain behind the throne, the one who always knows the solutions of any issue, the one who can easily fix even the trickiest problem, SHE ESCAPED! She ran away, not to be seen again. If she fled, it must mean the matter is really serious, so serious she is incapable to handle it. And if she can't fix the problem, how am I suited for such a job?!  
Was revealing myself to him of any use? Was it even the right choice?  
Am I just meant to live around him with nothing else to think of?  
What am I supposed to do?

* * *

My focus gets caught back by his deep voice, my breath stuck in the throat, my thoughts on the tongue. I gaze away from him, startled.

«Is something bothering you, son?»

I look at the surroundings. Even if we are no longer in the garden but in the living room (for how much time have I been thinking?), I find myself overwhelmed all over again by the blinding yellow, be it for the flowers or his beard. I feel so sick.

He notices my panic and caresses the pot, making me more anxious. «Son, son, look at me.»

What was I thinking to do going back here?!

«Everything is alright.»

Nothing is alright.

«Son, please. Take it off your chest.» he pleads, he's so emotional for me and I don't understand―

«What―…» I start but then the words die in my mouth. Why am I hesitating?

He just nods at me, the smile hiding his worry.

«What have you planned to do with… _me?_ _»_ I stress the end, not sure of the proper word to use.

The edges of the lips falter a little, many ideas storming in his brain, like when he has to think on how to answer properly during a public speech of his. «Actually, there isn't that much. Surely you'll stay here. Then…» He ponders for a few more minutes, while occasionally sipping his tea. His tongue gets sore. It must be still piping hot.  
His eyes light up, like struck by a thunder. «Well, there is a thing I was thinking…» He hesitates.

«What is it?» Wait, you do!? Tell me, I'll embrace anything!

«Would it be alright for you if… if I let our people know of your return?»

My smile freezes dead.  
Is it _actually_ alright? OK, he is the one who had the idea, so I should just accept it, but… won't it make everything worse? Won't the subjects lose faith in dad, thinking that maybe I've been alive from the start? Would they ever think I'm an impostor? No, they would never consider it. Probably they'll see this as a beacon of hope, of a better future, not that they see anything else in anything. But after all…  
What else am I supposed to do?

«~they all deserve to know their prince~» He goes on and on explaining his reasoning that'd brought this conclusion.

I don't bother listening to him, though, trying to muster all my courage for agreeing to his plan. Because I don't like it. Seems like I don't like plans at all.

He finally shuts. He waits for an answer.

Words fail to work. I just nod, showing fake resolve.

And he smiles. «Thank you, son. You can't imagine how important this is.» Yes, I can't understand it because it's pointless. He serves some of his tea evenly on my pot, softening the soil. Some far memories remind me of that old taste: so warm, so… so close to home.  
If only I could taste it one last time.

* * *

The night is more silent than ever, aside from the deep snores and the casual shuffles of his paws beneath the covers. A smile lies lazily on his lips. It's been there since I've agreed to his plan and it just grew when he bid me goodnight.  
Only now I realize how dark the room really is, aside from a couple of Golden Flowers merging from the shadows like in a sunset…  
Seriously, thought, don't they know when to quit, the monsters I mean? Why wanting― no, **craving** for the Surface so strongly? Then again, we are talking about living beings so hopeful, gentle, naive, weak― so, so weak… There is no way they will win an eventual war against the humans. I mean, if we're talking about the same impulsive beasts, I know what they are. And those ones were just scared, no less… Besides, will my revelation do any good to monster-kind? Will it increase their will of a future up there? Give them some sense back? Or just… just nothing? Gosh, I really should just sleep on it…  
Plants don't sleep. Of course. As they're not supposed to think, breath, have a mouth― live a life. But after the many attempts I've made, I should stop building my hopes up.  
I firstly focus on the deafening snores―they'll silence my thoughts, somehow―but they grow annoying fast. I keep in the urge to immobilize him, those shuffling starting to get on my nerves. Nerves I lack. Good.  
I summon a vine―it only takes me to vision my arm on the spot, apparently―and pick the closest book I can reach, whatever the content is, it's not my concern; it just has to distract me. I open a casual page; the sentences broken in different paragraphs, each made out of three lines– poetry, I see. They usually are really deep, or so that's what Chara used to say; maybe they'll help me answer my doubts. Despite the dimmest light and the blurred ink, I can make out some sentences:

_I heard on all sides lamentations uttered,  
And person none beheld I who might make them,  
Whence, utterly bewildered, I stood still. _

_I think he thought that I perhaps might think_ ― whatever that means,  
 _So many voices issued through those trunks  
From people who concealed themselves from us; _ ― or maybe it's just hide-and-seek, genius?

 _Therefore the Master said: "If thou break off  
Some little spray from any of these trees,  
The thoughts thou hast will wholly be made vain." _― cool, Master. What am I supposed to break off?

 _Then stretched I forth my hand a little forward,  
And plucked a branchlet off from a great thorn,  
And the trunk cried, "Why dost thou mangle me?" _― a cry?

_After it had become embrowned with blood,  
It recommenced its cry: "Why dost thou rend me  
Hast thou no spirit of pity whatsoever? _

_Men once we were, and now are changed to trees;_ ―

Wait, what?! A transformation?! In a plant?! I search through the melting words, turning the pages forth and back again. I reach the core of the matter, skipping the presentation of the characters.

 _My spirit, in disdainful exultation,  
Thinking by dying to escape disdain, _― yes, that's what I did too: I avoided consequences and found myself in a green body. And… so? Is there a solution for this?

I continue searching through the lines, even more difficult to read for the growing darkness and my determination.

 _He who was in advance―_ not of my interest.

 _Was shouting:"Lano,_ ― doesn't matter.

 _Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it―_ I should look back.

 _Within these knots; and tell us, if thou canst_ ― oh, there it is!  
 _If any from such members e'er is freed."_ ― do they actually say it?!

 _Then blew the trunk amain, and afterward_ ― tell me already!

I cautiously read between the lines and find the information searched.

 _Like others for our spoils shall we return;_ ― oh, awesome! But why…? And how…?  
 _But not that any one may them revest,  
For 'tis not just to have what one casts off. _

_Here we shall drag them, and along the dismal  
Forest our bodies shall suspended be,  
Each to the thorn of his molested shade." _

… So… I'm going to turn back to my dust… or my previous shapeless form…? And then going back to the garden and… hung myself up…? Hanging up ashes or wax? With no tree in sight? With no motive and no purpose? How is this nonsense going to help me? How is this going to SAVE me?! These words are just useless! Why are you still there tormenting me? Isn't waking up as a fucking plant a painful punishment!? Isn't it miserable enough?! What is your goal? Is this all a joke to you?! Are you sick?! Wanna taste some thorns, uh?! Bring it on! Get some! I'll show you who is the one in control here!  
I get covered in shreds of paper and ink, the heavy cover on the floor. Stupid book with stupid morals, doesn't even try to help me redeem myself or just distract me from consequen… ces… No, no! T―that's not what I said! I can't make the same mistakes! No, eheh, I'm not, right…?

_Thinking by dying to escape disdain_

Boy, it just took some wasted lines to destroy me. How… how can I be so weak and such a coward… an idiot… How am I supposed to give hope to them all if I don't have any _myself?_ How?! Maybe there really is no way I can fix my mistake…

«Asriel…» his gentle voice pierces in my mind.

What? My eyes dart open and everything looks so wavy, blurry― Is it already morning? Is he already up―

He kneels, collecting the upside-down scrap of the book. Shoot. «Asriel…» His fur reaches my… tears… and warms my pot… for as much as it finds it possible. The other paw caresses my watery cheek, his blinks reassuring… «~bothering you, son?» That gaze is so upset and _yet_ that voice is… soothing… so full of hope…

How. How. HOW?! How can YOU help me when you can't even help _yourself?_ After what happened, after what you've obligated yourself to do, despite the mask you're FORCED to wear toward your subjects― despite everything I've done… I find myself enveloped in that stinging wet fur, soft like those far colorless memories… I don't understand. Why does he get so emotional, so worked up on a failure like me? And how can he even dream to help me when he is that hopeless? He's never taken care of himself, not even by preparing a decent meal for him only; it's as clear as the light. But he's always been like this, always putting his whole heart in what he loves to exhaustion. Even when there is no use, even when mum was in a low mood…

«Everything is going to be~»

No, it's not! I can't listen to him. I am so― so **OVERWHELMED** , so filled with RECOLLECTIONS, REGRET, GUILT, everything rejected in drops my body is not supposed to cast away, but that does anyway. I don't understand how my body works. I don't understand how this world works. I don't understand―

And he hums the melody. _That_ melody. It's not something I have to listen to with too much mind, it's always helped me with nightmares and haunting thoughts, making my SOUL tremble of peace― SOUL that is silent now…

STOP. REMEMBERING. RETREAT.

I burrow inside the pot, a cold, empty and silent house. I tremble in my new home, trying to repress my fears and demons. At least there are no Golden Flowers in sight.

* * *

The following days have been really quiet in comparison to the previous ones. He still brings me around the house, from the kitchen, the garden and the bedroom, following the exact schedule as before. However the constant attempts to converse have ceased to exist. I bet if one put an Echo Flower around here it would be completely wasted, left in the corner voiceless. Never starving, but voiceless.  
More than being determined to stay shut he seems troubled, probably worried anything he says could upset me to any degree.

I've tried to reassure him but it doesn't help that much, he probably thinks I'm just acting nice... Aaand he's not that wrong, since lately I'm struggling in showing him kindness. But I love him. Even if sometimes I get angry at him or sardonic or annoyed― Whatever, it doesn't matter! My feelings have nothing to do with my duty. My duty... Maybe it's because I'm still affected by that event and I get easily upset, which is arguably deniable, for as much as I don't want it to be; he himself addressed it as a traumatic event. Not that there are many other explanations available, since dying is supposed to be a one-time experience.  
Well, I can't say I don't appreciate this silence, however I think I'll go nuts sooner or later, since I'm doing nothing else but the exact same actions all day long. After four (was it five, or six― whatever) days of empty wasted hours frowning toward each other, I manage to open my mouth and finally deal with him. «When is the day?»

His shoulders stiffen, his jaw hesitates and cracks open. It takes him a moment to remember how to move it. «W… what?»

I let a sarcastic heavy sight. «Oh, come on, when do I have to reveal myself?»

His eyes are distant, as if caught by a delusion. «D… do you want to―»

«Yes,» I say before regretting it. There is no way back now. And before he can object me, I add:«And it's for our people's sake, is it not?»

First concern, then surprise and pride show off on his lips. «Yes.»

* * *

And those couple of days left as a peasant flower pass away in short breaths and, despite my earlier relief to deal with the issue, I can't help but feel building panic, regret, GUILT and then― nothing in my stem. I look around the bedroom, the flowers above the wardrobe lit as if there were a crack on the ceiling. The night is over.

He too gazes on the roof, his haunting eyes looking for something, then turns to me: his mannerism shows well enough his happiness and worry.

«It's going to be alright.» I state, reassuring him and myself.

«It sure is.» He sits, standing on my side. «Well, the meeting will start in a few hours. We should get ready, shouldn't we?»

I just nod.

While he prepares himself with the heavy armor (of which I've always wondered the utility), he shows me my attire, which consists of a purple swatch cut from his cape and dressed like a scarf― Yes, he is quite out of ideas; he's embarrassed himself as he explains. But after all, it's not everyday that you officially welcome back a once-dead heir. Or even unofficially. Whatever. He knots the edges, complaining about the lack of the Delta Rune. Honestly, though, I guess that's trivial as for now. We leave the room and he turns to the left, which we've never looked before, and stops in front of the… mirror…  
It's the first time I actually see myself after the reincarnation.  
Right, the ice provided me with an image a few lives (?) ago, however it was always distorted and difficult to understand. Right, I've already seen a plethora of times other Golden Flowers. But, you know, seeing a flower with literally two vertical lines as eyes and a horizontal one for the mouth and remembering that «It's still you» sure is something else. It's so ironic how some things never change, though: I almost look like how I was once, wearing my favorite green sweater and the yellow stripes now as petals. Guess these colors are in my head.

Asgore wears a dorky smile, fluttering several times his cape like an idiot. «Look, our outfits match.» He can't stop donning that dorky smile, as if nothing wrong happened. As if everything was in its right place. But is it?

A shiver assails me. I can't wait to just end this. The earlier, the better. «S―so, how much do we still have to wait...?»

«Not too much anymore. Hey,» he gently caresses my head, «you don't have to worry.»

But I do, idiot, so can'T YOU JUST TELL ME― No, stay shut. The protest gets bottled in my head. Keep calm, chill... everything will be fine... yes... I just jerk my head toward him, wearing the fakest smile my face has ever morphed.

If he's noticed, he doesn't say anything.

Then some heavy footsteps start approaching, the shadow cast on the tiles huge, indefinite and terrifying. The intruder enters in our views; it's a tall and massive armor, the eyes dark and frightening. I know few people owning an armor: dad, mom, Gerson and few others. But they used it during the war, and besides none of them has a red ponytail visibly swinging on the back. So who the hell are they?! And what do they want?!  
They come closer. And bigger. And louder.

How am I not supposed to freak out?!

But Asgore goes on stroking my petals, looking the less frightened, but more like… pleased? The hell, dad?! He greets them… warmly? «Captain.»

The guard lightly bows the head, exchanging the bid, then the muffled (young feminine?) voice says:«People are coming, sire. With them there will be a reporter, is it OK for you?»

«Of course, but we should ask him first.» And they both stare at me.

I sheepishly focus on the floor, avoiding to detect their gaze. «Ehm…OK?» What even is a reporter?! Whatever, I guess it will make them happy, right…? I mean, dad is obviously pleased, but they? Despite the darkest void that occupies the two gasps I can tell their full attention is on me, however I can't say what they are thinking, how they're reacting or ANYTHING.

The plates start moving. They're lowering… wait, kneeling? And bowing too? «It's an honor to meet you, prince Asriel.»

…How do they know?  
Despite my panic and the many questions lingering in my head I maintain my poker-face and collected attitude. «The pleasure is all mine, Captain.»

They raise back and we all go for the throne room, passing in front of the locked under-renovations room and the forgotten calendar. It's almost like time's really frozen with our deaths. The metal annoyingly clashes against each wooden step. Dad looks at me amazed and proud. «She is Undyne, the Captain of the Guard,» he states, reading my mind, «she's a kind, trustful and serious person, that's why I felt confident to tell her everything. I'm pretty sure you two will get along.»  
We reach the golden garden. He sits on the throne keeping me on his right knee, closer to… Undyne, (was it?) which still looks extremely hostile…? It must be the armor, or else dad got fooled?

It doesn't take too much for their arrival. The monsters', I mean.  
Many get access to the room, occupying the entrance and the surroundings completely. I can recognize a few of them, like Gerson in the corner… basically just him; not that I can see many faces since I'm a bit short over here. The majority of these monsters (which I've never seen in all my life) are solemnly silent, a few chat with each other, like the cat and the alligator over there. Suddenly a loud metal box in a red suit and tie pushes everyone reclaiming their (?) authority and reaches the first row with a… Is that a camera? «It'll be the best service of my great career!» they loudly whisper. The crowd approaches because of the lack of room. Undyne instantly summons a bluish spear in her gauntlet, warning them all to keep the distance from us. They oblige, their admiration still shining in their eyes. Then they curiously look at me puzzled.

My vision rises suddenly. Golly, dad, you could've told me, I thought I was going to fall!

They all bow, even old Gerson, despite his age and back pains. They are all so small… Dad's head covers the ray of light. Is the sun setting now?

I turn my eyes to the ground and it’s so far from me, resembling a small golden field in the evening…

Then they all stand up. I still tower over them. Everyone around here. Everyone is so near.

W―what, what do you want?! Stay back!

Something reaches my head and I jerk back, searching the foe. Don't touch me!

My face splatters against the ground, pain spreading all over the body. We resume breathing through the misshaped lungs.

The crowd is terrified. Must be because of my form. «MY CHILD!» Who is that? You instantly draw back. You're shocked in horror. The two approach toward your body―

_You…_

I gain control of the frozen magma. Many scream back and flee, even that couple escapes. Few however still approach.

Buzz off! Go away!

They don't stop.

I don't wanna hurt you! Please!

They don't stop.

… Can they even hear me?

_They won't stop._

They keep coming closer― Everyone is so near―  
The taller and nearer ones lay a hand on their hips and wield something shiny against the sun―

 _Azzy, stay back!_ You summon a sprout little fire intended to be a wall. My arms are like lit candles. You’ve never used magic before.

Despite its smallness and the distance, they're all yelling and screaming, many run away in rounds. It’s a bedlam.  
Everyone has got the fear.

_Attack them!_

I create a harmless branch of flames toward the braver ones around me, backing them off. Please please, I don’t wanna hurt you, please stay back―

A shaky cane-like thing gets before my eyes―

_The riffle!_

The riffle explodes and the loudest bang reaches my chest, melting the insides further. I can’t hear, I can’t see, I feel nothing but pain.

… _They've… they've s h o t y o u ._

They've shot me.

_They've shot you ASRIELRETALIATE―_

More bangs. More pain. More wax lost in the field. «It's holding on!» More bullets. More pellets. More dust spread everywhere. I want to scream against the noise and the pain and the crowd but my mouth still doesn’t exist. We are failing.

_KILL THEM, ASRIEL!_

One shouts and many― thousands of pellets pierce in my body―

_KILL THEM ALL!_

I stay frozen in place or else you’ll kill them all. No one has to die, Chara.

 _But_ _YOU’_ _RE_ _DYING_ _!_

I cast a bush of fire and even the most reckless humans mind the distance. Few throw their weapons and flee. The magic dies soon after. I need a support or I barely stand. I must leave now.

«It's holding on!» More screams follow―

 _DEFEND YOURSELF!_ My claws deepen in your corpse’s flesh― _USE IT AS A SHIELD! IT’S NOBODY’S!_

I can’t. I duck from the other shoots, hugging you closely. I would never use you, Chara.

 _PLEASE, LISTEN TO ME! MAKE IT_ _USEFUL! MAKE_ ME _USEFUL!_

The bangs stop out of the blue.

_They’re reloading Asriel it’s time to end ALL this!_

I somehow manage to stand on the ground and flee from the field.

_What?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!_

I keep your body closer. They don’t deserve you.  
Despite and because of everything, the Surface is so heavy and slow and silent and meaningless. My limbs― My entire body is getting more jellish. I reach the feet of Ebott. The mountain is enormous, from the inside I would’ve never said our house was this large―

_ASRIEL, STOP!_

I startle at the call and stay put on tracks. There is no more human in sight. I must recover― I must recover from the rush. C’mon, breathe, breathe! I lean on a near tree, my back giving off the moment it touches the bark. I still manage to stand despite all my shifting and sap spilled over.

You punch our already shattering SOUL in frustration.

Chara, please―

 _NO! SHUT UP!_ **YOU** _LISTEN TO ME!_ You wail your deepest sobs and weep your deepest tears. You’ve never been like this, not even in the worst nights, not when you were― _WHY! WHYWHYWHYWHY!_ You keep pushing and hit, powered only by your anger. _WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS!?_

I’m… I’m sorry…  
I resume the hike, or else I won’t make it. I always forget how the way back is usually harder than the departure and this is no exception. At each step (or better dragging) what’s left of my body aches like hell. Are they the pellets, or maybe the twigs I’ve stepped on, or perhaps these seeds? It all sticks on me and won’t let go.  
I shush the thoughts, or else I won’t make it. Silence is eating us both, if not for the sobs and the blowing wind and the heavy sighs. I’m choking my lungs with all this fatigue. Breathe, idiot, breathe! I stop once more, the exhaustion making my right arm unreliable. I move your body on the left one, casually lifting your right sleeve. You look so small and yet those cuts are so big and deep that I wonder why you had to deal with so much hatred.

 _Eheh… You even wonder now._ You whisper with no voice; even your mind is tired like this rotten vessel. _You wonder despite what you’ve seen, despite what they’ve done…?_

They were scared, Chara.

_They are evil and wicked to the root. They haven’t even consulted each other. They haven’t even questioned it. They just fired._

They’ve seen your corpse and thought I killed you―

_But you didn’t! They’ve hurt you― THEY KILLED ME, THEY’VE DRIVEN ME TO THIS, IT’S THEIR FAULT―_

Chara―

 _AND THEY THOUGHT IT WAS RIGHT TO THROW THE BLAME ON YOU!_ You hiss between the silent venom. _THEY ALL ARE BEYOND SAVING! NONE OF THEM DESERVE THE SURFACE… none… none of them…_ You regain some air despite the lack of lungs. _It wasn’t… Things were supposed to go differently… Why you let them…_ You gaze at me, at my deepest inside. Nothing is hidden by you and yet you ask it anyway. Or you can’t see it? _I told you, I fucking TOLD YOU!_

I―

 _THE SUN WON’T PROTECT YOU, I TOLD YOU ITOLDYOUITOLDYOU WASN’T IT ENOUGH?!_ You’re running out of breath and patience and stability―

Just let me―

 _SO WHY! W―why…? why…_ Desperation and disappointment suffocate the outburst, leaving behind only further crying. _I… I trusted you… I thought you were up to the job… I thought you wanted…_

The plan is flawed. We’ve been reckless… we haven’t thought of the consequen… ces… It could… could cause a… a war… between races…

_Breathe, please!_

I gasp as I remember how lungs work. I collapse dead on a rock. My eyes fall on a near puddle; it shows a horrible beast in pain. Plenty drops of pure magic splatter on the ground. Its dust is melting even more. It’s losing too much sap.

 _Pl… please, c-come on, now. We must go back!_ You try to move my legs but they are as unresponsive as your body. You start crawling, digging the fangs deep in the dirt. You pull the arms but the fingers are stuck there. You get anxious, your temperament shortens. _Get some air, idiot!_ _Hurry up!_ You swear and sweat due to exhaustion and frustration and determination.

I count up to fifteen and slowly get control over the blob. I stand up with the help of the rock. It’s as if all the debris over me is turning to needles stabbing my back. It hurts. I sink further in its cracks, but I manage to withdraw the sap.

_L-let’s go home. We’ll… M-mum and dad! They’ll help us!_

I chuckle a bit, maybe it’s the pain, maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the silly hope you’re clinging on.

 _That’s not silly, I’m serious!_ Your tone betrays your intentions.

But I try to regain some strength anyway: I can feel the magic of the Barrier resonating in my SOUL. We’re close. We’re finally there. The barrier is just a few steps away. Before proceeding I fetch your forgotten body.

_Leave that there, it’s just a burden._

It’s not.

_It is! It’s pointless!_

It’s not. They must see you again. We can’t break their heart, can we?

_… Whatever, just… Let’s just go back home._

I slowly drag myself through the burning human spell’s hallway. Despite all the energy and light and magic still scorching the back, I manage to leave it. Now it’s too dark. It’s way too dark. I can’t see a thing, my eyes are collapsing. It’s almost funny how I never complained about that before. Now I can get your complaints when you first got here―

_Azzy, they are here!_

I barely hear their voices; they’re almost unrecognizable, just like me. I keep going, unstoppable, or else I won’t get back up again. And there it is, the only thing I can see: it’s dad’s garden, bathed in the Surface’s filtered light. The spot is green, soft, pure, free, comfortable… so comfortable… Will I ever get up? I slowly kneel and gently place your corpse on the more appropriate lawn. Then I collapse. The pain is so maddening I must cling on the grass beneath me or else I would scream my lungs out. Not that I can do anything else: the organs are failing, the limbs are stiffening, the particles are pulling and pushing each other in a mad run, still stuck in their position. My throat is too dry and my voice too weak to emulate more than a few gasps. So it’s over. It really is over―

 _No, NO! W-we are back home,_ _they’ll help us and they’ll heal us and we’ll explain everything and we’ll say we’re sorry because we’ve been stupid and we’re sorry and I’m sorry and I’m… I’m… I’m…_

Something touches my cheek― or whatever it’s turning into. They withdraw their touch instantly, as if pierced by the heat bursting within our body. The brief contact is enough to throw all my efforts to not scream to waste. I bury my face deeper in the dense soil. My fingers are one with the grass.

 _Azzy, Azzy, stay with us, listen to them, listen to me― I-I-I don’t want to die again… I don’t want_ you _to die…_ You shiver more, like the background pleas. You all know we’re over. We all know it’s over.

Those distant words don’t manage to reach my ears soon enough; the lawn, the Underground― the whole world is getting fainter and fainter, torn to magma and ashes. And then coldness. And darkness.  
We’re dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Flowey's reading is Dante's Divina Commedia Inferno (wasn't it obvious?) canto XIII. I've used the translation by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, its pdf easily found in the Internet. Check it out if you want.
> 
> I know, it's been almost a week since the posting of the chapter but whatever. I just wanted to say there are some Kid A Album's references, like "Everything In Its Right Place" and "The National Anthem"


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